sirius' heartache
by stinkerbell
Summary: cheese cheese cheese cheese cheese. woo woo, cheese! story in a nutshell: sirius nurses a wee crush. um, not much of a plot. or, to be perfectly honest, no plot. just me working out my sirius-lily harborings. ick, etc: not for the squeamish.
1. sirius' heartache

Please, please, please R/R!!! I'm not sure if I should continue the storyline, and as I'm already I the midst of another fanfic, I might drop this one if the response if underwhelming. I hope that the plot doesn't tick off too many people: don't worry, Lily will always be faithful to her James, and I like Sirius too much to let him suffer unnecessarily. And if you're so inclined, please read my other fanfic (Voldemort's Heir) and I'll love you forever and ever and ever (note: if you are a really nice person, and decide to humor this request, the first and second parts are kind of long and not totally necessary to understand the plot. 3, 4 and 5 should be clear enough on their own). Kisses to all my reviewers!!! I love you guys **_soooooo_** much!!!

*************

I can quite honestly say that I fell in love with her the moment I clapped eyes on her. 

Rumpled haired and sleepy-eyed, she walked over to the Gryffindor table wearing the most hideous ensemble I have ever seen: a bright pink dress with green bows stationed along the waistband and hem. My heart knocked insistently (and, I feared, audibly) at my chest as she drew nearer. 

Her eyes misunderstood my look, "It's awful, I know…mum's never had much taste." A sweet, timid smile apologized for the frightful outfit. 

"I'm Lily." All I could do was smile back.

**********

It was breakfast and her hands were occupied in grabbing handfuls of sausages and biscuits from the tray and placing them in her coat pocket. 

"What _are _you doing, Lily?" James asked laughing, staring at her bulging pockets. "Trying to fatten Humbert up for the Halloween feast?"

"Ooooooooh, James! You had better watch it!" she replied angrily, but a smile betrayed her as she swat his shoulder with her free hand. 

"But _seriously_, Lily…I'm not sure if I could choke down that cat of yours. Have you _seen_ some of the stuff he eats?" I added, laughing.

"If you must know," she replied with mock haughtiness, "I thought it would be a terrible shame to waste such a beautiful day eating inside. Would you two mind terribly if we went outside to eat?" she asked with exaggerated pleading, knowing full well that James and I would do whatever she wanted.

And so we spent the morning basking in the sunshine and sprawled out on the front lawn. Remus joined us before long, wearing his usual quiet smile. Lily quizzed him on his Charms homework, her chin resting on the heels of her hands and her feet swaying restlessly in the air. James and I would occasionally take an obligatory nibble of Lily's pilfered biscuits, wincing playfully each time to get her to put on that adorable little frown of hers.

"Really! If you don't like them, don't eat them," she'd squint disapprovingly at us. "It's no skin off my nose."

*********

"Sirius! Sirius! Wait up!" I turned around to see Lily running towards me. She caught up with me, flushed and breathless.

"Have you had lunch yet?" she asked. "James is finishing a detention, and I haven't seen Remus or Peter since this morning…and, really, it'd be such a shame to let these go to waste." She pulled two magnificent red lobsters out of her bookbag, smiling triumphantly at them.

"Lily, where on _earth_ did you get those?" I asked, incredulously.

"Awww, Sirius, you don't expect a magician to give away all her secrets, do you?" she grinned wickedly at me, and then her tiny arm took the crook of mine. "You and James aren't the only mischief makers around here. C'mon. I promise they won't bite."

We spent that cold and blustery day together, eating lunch near the fireplace upstairs. She was bent over, giggling and whispering conspiratorially in my ear, the loveliest I've ever seen or felt her. Her cheeks were still streaked with red from the walk over, and I desperately wanted to say something witty or catty that would unleash one of those wicked smiles of hers. Peter found us and started talking to us about some inconsequential Transfiguration theorem or something, his voice shrill and whiny and plying. 

"Oh, Peter, you'll have to tell me about that some other time, we're late to class," she said to him, cutting him off and winking at me. And so we left.

We walked together, side by side, our bodies pitched against the icy gusts, steaming issuing from our mouths, our hands in our pockets, our soft exhale mingling. I had that sort of feeling you get when you haven't slept for a long time; that gliding, drunken euphoria where everything is blurred and echoed and heavy and your bones ache dully.

"When I was eight my dad got a raise at his job and we when to the local furniture store to buy some nice, new stuff to replace all the old brown." Her auburn hair was matted and wet and little tendrils curled and danced around her ears. "And Dad thought it would be funny to have this global, around-the-world sort of theme for my room, to improve my chances of winning that year's geography bee or something ridiculous like that." She wrinkled her nose slightly in mock distaste. "So, anyway, he bought, like, six red-faced clocks and a giant world map to put up in my room with the times of all the different parts of the world." She tilted her head slightly and a sliver of her naked neck peaked out from beneath her scarf. "But he couldn't get the batteries in all at precisely the same time, so there were these 6 clocks all ticking asynchronously and it was like a horribly magnified Telltale Heart or something. Petunia broke four of our new dinner plates in the first hour." She laughed her silvery laugh and I wanted to take her face into my hands and kiss her deeply and intently and do all the indecent things I only guilty allowed myself to imagine. "So he gave away five of the clocks as Christmas gifts and let me keep the sixth."

**********


	2. sirius' heartache

Where we last left of….

It was a week until the Spring Ball, and, perhaps surprisingly, only Remus and Peter had secured their dates. Remus was taking Camilla McNamee, a pale Ravenclaw with a kind smile that matched his own. I had seen them sitting and laughing quietly together several times this past year. Their flimsy pretense of collaborating on homework fooled no one, mostly because they didn't have any classes together. Remus just grinned sheepishly whenever James, Lily or I mentioned this. 

Peter had asked Doris Fagglesworth, a shiny, plump Hufflepuff who appeared highly affronted at his request, but who grudgingly agreed after a week's drought of other offers. Peter pretended not to care about her reluctance, but seemed annoyed by the fact that wherever James and I went, clusters of girls whispered and giggled and craned their necks, and seemed to think that we were dragging our feet just to irritate him.

"How long are you guys going to wait?" Peter prodded James and me for the umpteenth time in his impatient, whiny voice. James was bent over, intently reviewing a book on transfiguration, and just shrugged his shoulders indifferently. He had been behaving strangely ever since the Ball had been announced, so I couldn't help but wonder whether his indifference was sincere. 

I knew whom I wanted to ask, of course, but that was the whole problem. How do you ask one of your best friends to a ball without either making your romantic intentions seem so serious you scare her off, or else so offhand that she never realizes how you feel? 

Besides this primary worry, though, I had two others. First, I was afraid asking Lily might affect my relationship with James, Remus and Peter. I was kind of confident that none of them harbored romantic intentions towards her (they'd tell me, right?), but I suspected that asking her would nevertheless change the dynamic of our foursome. My only other worry concerned James: since he still didn't have a date yet, I feared he might ask Lily out of either last-minute desperation or a desire for comfortable familiarity before I had had an opportunity to work up my resolve.

And with that, having cataloged and reviewed my worries for the hundredth time that day, the object of my affection plopped down in the chair between James and me with an exasperated sigh, her legs flung over the arms of the chair and twitching restlessly.

"So there she is," James smiled, finally looking up from his book. Lily let her tongue loll out of her the corner of her mouth and panted melodramatically.

"I am _so_ exhausted," she sighed. "I think Professor Wimfobst must drink alone all day in that shed of his. Because, really, how much time can you spend worrying about those silly flobberworms?"

"They're very useful creatures, Lily," James said, his brow furrowed with mock seriousness. Lily raised her eyebrows and sighed again, "Mmmm-hmmm."

"So, Lily, do you have a date yet for the ball?" Peter started in again, James moaning in reply. "Again, Peter?!? You're a man obsessed! You have your date, so what does it matter if Sirius, Lily and I have gotten ours?" Peter flushed and his eyes narrowed at James.

"Yeah, I do," Lily responded softly, her cheeks coloring. "He just asked me in class." James and I spun around.

"What?" he asked incredulously. "Who is he?" Lily's cheeks reddened even more.

"What? Am I such a lump of day-old cheese that my having a date surprises you?" she said with very real, very quiet anger, her forehead creased in a hurt and angry expression.

"No, I just mean…well, I just thought that…we would know, you know? If someone liked you, I mean," he tried to recover, stuttering uncharacteristically.

"I told you, he _just_ asked me. I didn't have an opportunity to tell you guys yet," she said, more calmly now. "I'm going with Amos Diggory."

****

Yeah, yeah. I'm a sucker for falling back on the old and familiar. Some people have indicated that they think this storyline is kind of dumb. Should I continue it or no? I have a kind of good idea where I'm going, but if you want me to continue and/or you have suggestions, I'm all ears. Kisses to my reviewers!


	3. sirius' heartache

Whew, so here's part three. I lay it on a bit thick, but I hope you like it anyway.

***************

"I just don't understand why she's going with him. He's so vacuous and doltish and…"

"Handsome?" I offered helpfully.

"Well, _sure_ if you go for that kind of paunchy, overly muscled, big-necked sort of thing. And sure he's nice enough, _nice_ and _stupid_. Aggressively stupid, wouldn't you say?"

James had been going on like this for an hour, cataloging Amos Diggory's every fault with astounding meticulousness, assembling a convincing (if not a little monomaniacal) case for why Lily was simply mad to accompany Amos to the ball. 

James' behavior almost shocked me: he normally possessed such excessively generous opinions of people. While he had never dispensed compliments with a liberal hand, his kind and simple actions made him the most compassionate, gracious person I have ever known, possibly excepting Lily and Remus. He was always the one who went out of his way to talk to chubby, pimpled Agnus Farnelsworth (who nearly killed James in her lumbering and awkward efforts at idolatry), occasionally stopping to tell her a silly joke or to listen attentively to her screeching and stuttering accounts of the Herbology Club's (invariably boring) exploits. He was always the one who kept me in check around Peter, giving me a firm, admonishing look when my playful barbs became too unkind. 

If I didn't know better, I thought nonchalantly, I'd guess James was in love with Lily.

And although I was playing Amos' advocate at every sharp-toothed barb, I secretly savored every harsh criticism James doled out. I couldn't see why Lily—sleepy, lovely, laughing Lily—had agreed to accompany that doltish twit. My weeks of planning, my nights of agonizing were all for naught. _Lily loved another_, I told myself with melodramatic despair.

I didn't like this cagey, hesitant person I had become. I was never given to any sort of angsty rake-your-emotions-over-the-coals foolishness; I was assured, easy in my friendships. But Lily had bowled me over. My love for her had crept up on me, like sneaky inches in a growing boy. I felt as though I had suddenly awoke in a foreign, alien landscape, though I had to struggle to remember what was supposedly familiar. The careless laziness of youth seemed so far away, so long ago.

"I mean, it's her business and all, sure," James concluded calmly, "I'm just saying that I think she could do much better." My head was turned away from him; I smiled.

**************

Remus, Lily and I took the gray, weathered school rowboat out on the lake that lazy Sunday afternoon. James and Peter had dueling practice. Remus decided to take a swim, his pale head vanishing soundlessly beneath the surface as he looked (futilely, I guessed) for mermen. Lily was sleepy, reclined with one hand holding a place in her book (she hadn't, as far as I could tell, read a single page all day), the other trailing quietly in the water.

"This is nice, Sirius," she murmured drowsily.

"What?"

"You, me…the sunshine," she said in the hushed tones of a sleep-talker. "I feel very happy."

The quiet lapping of the water continued uninterrupted, Remus occasionally swimming back to the boat to deposit found treasures of some sort or other.

"You don't really like him, do you?" I asked finally in my (I hoped) most offhand voice.

"Hmmmm?" she replied, not listening. Her legs were thrown over the side, blue veins swimming under their milky surface. Her face looked positively angelic. The soothing whir of dragonflies, the sunlight gently filtering through the overhanging birch trees, the butterflies careening drunkenly around the boat, her face, her fingers, her body, inches away from mine; it was all dangerously intoxicating.

"Amos," I clarified. "You don't really like him, do you?" She sat up and regarded me curiously.

"Why do you ask?" she replied.

"I don't know. James and I, we just…we just think you can do better, that's all." I pretended to look distractedly up at the tree branches. A long, quiet pause.

"He likes me, he really does. Holly said he's wanted to ask me out for ages," she said in a wooden, matter-of-fact tone, ostensibly watching a water-skate twitch about edgily on the surface.

"But, what about you?" More silence. Finally, she turned to me with a sober, melancholy look.

"I've always been the fifth tag-along to this group of guys. I've always been just a rough-and-tumble addition to the fabulous foursome; a carelessly dressed, scabby-kneed tomboy who doesn't get any second looks, much less dates. I'm just a boy in skirts to you guys, and I always will be."

"I don't understand," I said stupidly.

"He likes me, Sirius. He might even love me, I don't know. But I'm sick and tired of being the rumpled, boyish girl that no one thinks twice about," she looked off towards the lake. "It feels good to be wanted." My jaw clenched involuntarily.

I wanted her, you know. I wanted her and all the domesticity of teakettles and meticulously scrubbed floors and clumsily painted windows and a dozen kids underfoot. I wanted the intimacy of her groggy, early-morning face; her dopey, half-asleep smile; her full-body yawns, arms needling the air.

"Yeah, I guess it must," I replied, regarding her with solemn, aching hunger.

*************

It was the night of the ball; couples were running around manic and giddy. James and I never did ask anyone out; we both went stag. Peter seemed inexplicably delighted by this fact, pointedly referencing his date in almost every sentence he spoke. James paced about sulkily in his dress robes; we were still waiting for Remus and Lily.

Remus and Camilla finally showed up, hand in hand. Camilla was lovely in a deep plum dress, Remus equally dashing in his bashful grin and telltale smudge of lipstick. Now there was only--

She appeared at the foot of the stair, so tiny and frail against the tall, imposing size of Amos Diggory. I can't remember what she wore; maybe something green or crimson? I'm not sure if I ever really noticed. 

__

Tonight's going to be more difficult than I expected, I thought dejectedly.

"Hello, Amos," James said coolly. He had tried to feign respect for Amos on Lily's account, but he could barely manage indifference. "That's a lovely lady you have there on your arm," he turned and beamed at Lily. She abandoned the crook of his arm and came over to James and me.

"Oh, you two look so handsome," she said glowingly, stopping in front of both of us to adjust sleeves and collars.

"You're not too bad yourself," I managed. 

*****************

James abandoned the party before it was even halfway through. "I'm not feeling well," he said, and he genuinely didn't look it. I spent the evening lazing idly in my chair watching Remus and Camilla finally abandon their claims to "just friendship." Lily and Amos returned to our group, flushed and out of breath from dancing. I watched her show him her ordinary, gentle kindnesses, but there was nothing indulgently tender in her manner towards him. Or so I hoped. 

The conversation drifted from topic to topic for awhile, at one point getting quite heated, but I cannot for the life of me remember anything discussed. I simply sat transfixed upon Lily's fidgety, restless hands and occasionally provided the obligatory reply. Finally, a conversational lull. Peter cleared his throat importantly several times.

"Would you like to dance?" Lily asked me impulsively. I smiled at her, then nodded at Amos.

I will not bother trying to do justice to how I felt out on that floor with Lily's waist in my hand, her warm breath against my ear. Everything trite and stale and stupid about romance novels was true in that excruciatingly blissful moment, and I wish to send no one's eyes rolling.

But, sometimes, even now, late at night, when I'm overcome with fatigue, dead on my feet, I can still feel the quick, soft pulse of her neck against my shoulder

*********

Part four will be a long time in coming, as I have much homework to be done. Today's my birthday, so if you liked this installment of this silly, cheesy fanfic, I'd be deeee-lighted if you gave me the present of a nice review J . Thanks for all the feedback so far, and take care!


	4. sirius' heartache

here's the last part of this fanfic. sorry about the delay, i've been enjoying the lovely beaches of charleston. reviews ('specially nice ones!) are my bread and butter!

***************

I suppose you could say that Amos and Lily dated; I'm really not sure what to call that brief, cordial, slightly standoffish dance of theirs. Amos took great pains to take care of, impress her. But a week after the ball, perhaps even earlier, it was clear to all parties that Lily regarded Amos with a kind of sympathetic gratitude and nothing more. She was kind and appreciative, but decidedly aloof. Amos retreated with unnecessary embarrassment while James' spirits brightened, as did mine. Our dear friend had escaped from the clutches of undeserving mediocrity, we claimed.

**************

James and I went home with Lily for Christmas break. She had her work cut out for her, keeping James and me from wreaking havoc in her muggle world. Her sister Petunia gave us a look of unbelievable contempt when we arrived, remarking loudly at five-minute intervals that something smelled "really awful, like dead frogs," and then rearranging her bony face into what I could only guess was a look of disapproval.

"I think she has a crush on you, Sirius," Lily winked at me.

"God help the man who marries you, Lily," James shook his head at Petunia.

**************

I was reading outside, in a chair on the lawn. Suddenly, there was her hand on my shoulder, then playfully mussing my hair. She collapsed in my lap with a melodramatic sigh, her arms around my neck; her chin resting on the top of my head.

"How does that song go? Da da da, _in her red, red dress,_ da dee dah, _her hair such a mess_."

"Hmmm," I murmured lazily and let my head loll in the soft recess under her shoulder, in her wild mess of hair.

"Dah ree doo, _and so we tumble down, down the rabbit hole_."

It is perhaps an odd fact, perhaps a figment of an unusually sensitive nose, that each of my four closest friends had a unique aroma, as peculiar and distinct as their individual personalities. These smells are, in my mind and my heart and my memory, as indivisible from their owners as stirred milk in tea. Even now, even at their faintest suggestion, these smells call my old friends before me with such vivid, palpable, indelibly-etched detail that I hesitate to admit them as the ghostly handiwork of my memory. 

There was James and his smell of wholesome, robust self-sufficiency: wool and freshly cut grass and spring mud; the smell of Quidditch and early mornings. Remus and his mild, uncomplicated smell of sweet, fresh cucumber; as gentle and soothing as that quiet smile of his. Peter and his bitter, pungent smell of vinegar and tea, surprisingly pleasant in its sharpness; so forceful and assertive, so unlike his personality, that I came to rather liked its peculiar, biting intensity.

And then there was Lily. Lily, Lily, Lily. Where can I begin? 

Lily's smell was perhaps like one of those vague, impossibly magnificent dreams from childhood: ethereal, elusive and impossible to describe. Perhaps it was only because I thought her incessantly, perhaps only because I so easily lost myself in the elegant curve of her wrist, in the sweet hoarseness of her voice, that I had such difficulty in pinpointing her smell. I tried to dissect it into strata like a heavily layered painting, like an onion peel. I thought, somewhat superstitiously, that if I was able to discover and perfectly describe that indescribable Lily-smell, that I'd crack the safe and win the prize. And so that morning, taking in deep, greedy breaths with my face buried in her disheveled tangle of hair, I tried again to name that heady, dark sweetness of hers: wet autumn leaves, spring rain, the musty smell of old books. The smoky musk of burnt pine and marmalade and baking bread; of cedars and magnolias. The damp, heavy smell of an unmade bed.

I don't know what made me do it. I guess I imagined doing it so many times that it was almost mechanical, almost habit. A finger under her chin, and my lips on hers. It wasn't a deep, voluptuous kiss (I struggled to my senses before it could become that), but nor was it a quick, brotherly peck. After a couple seconds (a couple, deliciously long seconds) she drew back, her eyebrows arced.

"What was that?" she laughed.

"I don't know, you just looked pretty, that's all. It would have been a shame if someone hadn't kissed you." She laughed again.

"You pretend to be all rocks and nails, Sirius, but deep down you're the most hopeless romantic I know," she said, kissing me between my eyebrows, my cheek in the softness of her hand.

**************

"Peter, I don't know what to do with you. You're really your own worst enemy."

"She's right, you know. Just _ask_ Doris, what's the worse that could happen?"

"Get her a box of chocolates or something."

"Chocolates? That's pretty asinine."

"No, I think he's right, chocolates are just the thing. Gobs and gobs of it, coming out of her ears. A couple additional inches to that mighty girth of hers, you might just have a captive audience."

"Sirius! That's an awful thing to say!"

"C'mon, you have to admit that she's so shiny and fat she looks like an oiled-up piglet."

"A great pink bean-bag."

"A vinyl-clad hippo."

"Or maybe you could make yourself more endearing by transfiguring into a chipmunk. Fur and doe-eyes can go a long way, you know."

"Hmmm…not many girls would go for that whole animal bit, looking for love in all the wrong places and such."

"I think she's already set up shop in all those wrong places."

"James!"

"Just another fly in the ointment of your love, buddy."

"Really, you two! This is not the way to build his confidence," Lily snapped, that exasperated gesture of her hand through her hair. Peter squinted sourly, dejectedly at his toast.

"Here, Peter, practice on me. Tell me I float your oats, snake your drain, eat your cheese," I offered.

"Those aren't real expressions," he replied sourly.

"No, no, for real. You be the deer, I'll be the headlights. You know--" I stopped short, and then, "Lily."

"What?"

"You're bleeding." They all turned to look at her. A dark crimson thread snaked down her forehead, her cheek, collecting at her jaw. It wasn't coming out in torrents, but it was rather heavy. She blindly groped her face.

"Here, let me," James said gently, pulling close to her, his hand at the base of her neck, her cheek in his palm. 

It was then I knew. You may wonder how I could have been so oblivious when he sulked jealously at the ball, when he jabbed mean-spiritedly at Amos, every time he flashed that special smile he reserved exclusively for her, and yet could have known in that instant, in that split-second, but I honestly can't explain it. It was in the way he drew close to her, the tender, slightly possessive way he circled her neck with his hand, the softness in his voice. Instantly I knew he felt for her what I did; I knew he loved her.

*************

It was James' big game against Slytherin, and he was a sick as a dog.

"Lith-en, ah'll beh finh," he reassured Lily, who demanded that he ask Brunson use Hawthorn as a replacement seeker. Another violent sneeze.

"James, you're so full of it you're eyes are floating brown," Lily snapped angrily. "You'll be no help to them this sick, and you'll only get yourself sicker. Do you realize how heavily it's raining outside?"

"Lully," sniff, "Ah'm juth finh. Ah promith." Sneeze. He kissed her on the forehead reassuringly.

"Ugh, James! All your nasty cooties!" she squealed and frowned in mock disgust. Then more seriously, "Just promise you'll be careful, James. Promise me none of your usual showing off. Promise me."

"Croth mah ha-art an hope tah die, sweepea."

*************

Lily was pacing outside the door of the infirmary, I was sitting down.

"I _told_ him, I _told_ him not to play today," she said, shaking her head, her arms crossed on her chest.

"Lily, I'm sure he's fine. He's taken much bigger spills than that before."

"How could he be so stupid, Sirius? He's unbelievable, he really is!" A gesture of annoyance towards the infirmary door, her hand through her hair.

"Lily, Madame Reasling said he'll be just fine, and you know how she always tries to make things out as worse than they are."

"I know, Sirius. I'm just…I don't know. I'm so _angry_ at him." I just looked at her downturned face in silence. She looked up at the ceiling, then rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. She looked exhausted.

Quietly, "I love him, Sirius. I really do." I looked at my knees in silence. I had suspected as much, but my jaw clenched involuntarily all the same when she said this.

"How dumb is that? Leave it to me to fall in love with one of my best friends," she shook her head. To herself, "You're really unbelievable, Lily. How stupid could you be?"

More silence, then—

"He loves you, too, you know." She looked at me started, out the corner of her eyes.

"What makes you say that?"

"Lily, it's obvious. To everyone. To everyone but yourselves. Why do you think he pouted and sulked and carried on so when you went out with Amos?"

"Sirius," she shook her head despondently, "No one likes me _that way_ except Amos. Don't you think I'd know if it were otherwise?"

"Lily, I know these things. I know James better than anyone else. Better than you do. Maybe even better than him. And believe me, he's very much in love with you."

She sighed sadly and said, "I'd like so much for that to be true."

*************

She was so beautiful in her white dress it literally took my breath away.

"Petunia said I look a bit like a muskrat," she said, biting her lower lip nervously as she surveyed the clumps of guests scattered over the lawn.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," I said solemnly to her. She looked at me, smiled, and then kissed my cheek.

"Thank you, Sirius," her throaty whisper at my ear, her hand squeezed mine.

"So you ready to do this?" I said, my arm around her shoulder. She bit her lip again.

"I couldn't be more ready."

*************

It was impossible to be jealous of James. He was my friend and my brother, and perhaps it was just the vicarious pleasure of seeing them so completely lost in each other's face, but that day was the happiest of my life. A squinty-eyed stare into the setting sun, James' arm around my shoulder, Lily's soft hand on mine; it was impossible not to be deliriously happy surrounded by such friends as these.

And here they are again before me, laughing and careless and lazy on the dusky, purple lawn. Here they are, with their gestures, their voices, and their faces: 

James' confident, self-assured gait; his efficient, athletic grace; that black shock of hair and its unruly cowlicks; his careless, uncompromising good looks; his kind but mischievous eyes. 

Remus' dreamy, indolent smile; the downy halo of his cheek; his gentle squeeze on my shoulder; his benevolent smile. 

Peter's nervous, edgy infectious giddiness; his square, bitten nails; his crooked, toothy smile.

Lily's tousled hair; her round swell of calves; her ink-stained fingers; the sweet, gravelly voice; her restless hands.

But here, most of all, is their laughter: the easiness of James' hearty, good-natured boom; Remus' deep, slow rumble, a gentle slap of the knee; Peter's grudging, embarrassed laugh, catching in his throat like a cough; Lily's deep, silvery peals, forever echoing in my ears. 

One might think it difficult to feel lonesome in the company of ghosts such as these, but my heart longs for my friends all the same, longs for the way we were that dizzy, long-ago day: young, invincible and forever unscarred by our impossible, far-away future.

And, yes, I still love her. 


	5. ack, a totally unrelated story. damn ff...

okee dokee. this part won't be terribly exciting part of this fanfic, my needing to introduce characters and all, but bear with me. basic premise: young james potter and sirius black are on a train headed to ireland, having been selected to play on a team representing hogwarts at some big international quidditch competition (a la GoF). odd things start to happen, people start acting strangely, etc, etc. the plot will make its appearance in the next installment (i promise!), but for the time being you'll just have to humor me. 

disclaimer: you know the deal with the darling ms. jk. the poem, parts of which will be used in subsequent chapters, is an altered translation (i can't remember whose) of alexander puskin's _ruslan and ludmila_.

***

Sirius glanced again at dog-eared slip of paper in his hands, fingering it restlessly.

__

Lockhart, Milan – Alternate

Black, Sirius – Beater

Duridanov, Anmachen – Chaser 

McIntyre, Maeldûn – Chaser

Malfoy, Lucius – Chaser

Malfoy, Ludmila – Beater

McKellen, Heath – Keeper

Potter, James – Seeker

He sighed and put his feet up, crossed at the ankles, on the seat across from him. "I really don't know what they were thinking when they assembled this team, James. Everyone's pretty good, I guess, but there's something to be said about overflowing hatred not being good for a team's camaraderie."

"It's not that bad," James replied absentmindedly, bent studiously over a large book.

Sirius bent his knees and tapped restlessly at the train window.

"Mad Mac is OK, as is Heath, but Lucius is an _asshole_," Sirius hissed, "And Milan and Ant are just vacuous playboys."

"Takes one to know one," James said flatly, a ghost of a smile on his face.

"And no _girls_ on it, either," Sirius sighed theatrically.

"There's Ludmila," James corrected, still not looking up from his page. "And, personally, I think it'd be good for you if you gave your libido a little vacation. You're running out of new girls to date back home, anyway."

"_She's_ not a girl," Sirius said, smacking his lips with distaste, "_She's_ a _snake_."

"You just don't like her because she's related to Lucius," he turned his page. "You don't even know her."

"Being Lucius' twin's enough in my book." 

Sirius started flicking his forefinger from under his thumb, thoughtfully chewing his gum.

"James?"

"What?"

"Are you going to read that book at all today? I'm _languishing _away over here."

"Go talk to one of the other players," James replied peevishly, evidently irritated that Sirius kept interrupting his studying. His eyes tracked along the sentences of his book like the head of a typewriter. 

Sirius grunted with annoyance, got up, opened the compartment door. He wandered down the corridor, his gait bored and indolent, and opened a random compartment. Mad Mac was slouched over folded arms, sleeping. Sirius let out a disappointed sigh and wandered to the next compartment and jerked the door open.

Ludmila looked up, her eyes narrowing.

She looked a lot like her brother: milky, almost-bluish skin; a slight, wispy frame; pale blond hair. Her hair, however, curled quite a bit in its somewhat boyish cut, and her ski-slope nose didn't have the same aristocratic French crook as her brother's. Her eyes were framed by a pair of very thick, sooty lashes. She might have been very pretty, Sirius concluded, if it weren't for her scar: a long, deep groove ran from the forehead just above her right eyebrow and ending in the middle of her right cheek, narrowly skipping the area just around the eye. 

"Can I help you?" she asked, not too politely. She was barefoot, wearing a white tee-shirt and a pair of frayed jean cut-offs (revealing, Sirius noted with a mixture of delight and disappointment, a rather stunning pair of leanly-muscled legs). One her hands was flattening open a book, the other circling the leg she had drawn up to her chest. Her left leg was extended to the seat opposite her. 

"Madame Malfoy, I presume?" Sirius said with mock formality, making a rather spectacular bow, head to knees, rapidly revolving hand to stomach. He moved into the small space and plopped down on the seat across from her, right next to Lucius. If he had startled her, she didn't show it; she raised an inquisitive eyebrow and withdrew her leg from his seat. 

Her dog raised its head from its resting-place on the seat, regarding Sirius with something like curious contempt. He looked part terrier, part Chihuahua, a parentage that resulted in a whisker-faced bread bun with comically oversized ears and a corkscrew pigtail. Sirius had seen the dog occasionally tearing down the Hogwarts lawn, giddily tripping and somersaulting from his unfortunately mismanaged center of gravity. He had always thought the dog's manic, high-strung temperament seemed rather incongruous with Ludmila's languid gestures, her lazy drawl, but the two seemed nevertheless quite attached. Lucius, Sirius surmised from the clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, didn't care much for him. 

__

Don't be silly, Sirius reminded himself, _he's annoyed_ I'm _here_.

Sirius extended an arm to pet the dog, who let out a series of squeaky growls.

"Forget it, Lou," Ludmila admonished him gently, looking back at her book. "He's not worth the trouble."

"Lou your plumber uncle or something?"

"What?" 

"His namesake, I mean," Sirius jerked his head towards "Doesn't look much like a Lou, if you ask me."

"loukaniko." 

"Gesundheit."

Her lips curled into a reluctant smile. "No, you idiot. _Loukaniko_. It's Greek for sausage."

"Ahhh," Sirius replied knowledgeably. "Of course."

"Do you want anything?" Lucius asked curtly. "If not, I'd appreciate your leaving us alone," a protective glance over his sister, "_Now_."

"My, my. You'll make a boy blush with this sort of friendly reception! Just trying to get to know my fellow Beater," Sirius exclaimed laughing. "See if that skinny little thing's up to the task." He stood up and threw one last, quick look over at Ludmila before he left.

"Yes?" she snapped, glowering under his appraising eye.

"Nothing," he shrugged good-naturedly, his hand on the doorknob, "You're just better looking than I thought." Her lips curved slightly, a suppressed smile.

"Good_bye_, Black," Lucius said firmly.

When Sirius exited to the corridor he found Ant there, leaning against the wall, a crooked arm pinning the other against his chest, a stub of a cigarette between his fingers. 

"Vat vere you do in dere?" Ant asked in his thick German accent, a pale plume of smoke trailing from his lips.

"Don't worry, loverboy. Your girlfriend doesn't seem to like me much."

"Be car-ful vith dose two," Ant said in a sinister voice. "Er ist vernarrt in diese Frau."

"What?"

"Eez very protectif of eez sistar, dat Lucius."

***

"So this is home," James said, eyes casting about the bedroom. He threw his gloves on the table at the door.

The bedroom was fairly large, the color of cranberry, with high ceilings and gilt mirrors. There were two twin beds stationed against the back wall, and matching mahogany dressers on either side. Behind the beds were several rather large windows, a gentle breeze filtering through one. The sheer, starched curtains flapped stiffly against each other. Against the right wall was a large bookshelf, heavy with dark, leather-bound books, and near the door an oversized armchair in dark red brocade.

"For the time being, at least," Sirius said, halfheartedly trying to conceal his surprise at these agreeable living quarters. He dumped his small suitcase on the bed; James pulled open another window.

"Lily'd like it here," he said wistfully, fisted hands on glass.

"You mean _you'd_ like _Lily_ here," Sirius corrected. 

A sly sideways grin, "Well, that too."

"You're hopeless, Prongs," Sirius yawned chidingly, head resting on crossed arms. "Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless."

***

Since their first game was in a week, practice was to start early the next morning. James woke Sirius up by grabbing a leg and yanking him out of the bed. He landed with a thump and a groan.

"Whadjadoatfor?" moaned Sirius, still clenching a pillow over his head.

"C'mon," James said, stepping lightly on the recess in his back. "We'll be late."

There was a muffled, unintelligible reply from under the pillow.

"_Sirius_," James said with a bit more impatience. "Get up."

"It's still dark out!" Sirius protested, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. His shaggy head of hair shook like a wet dog.

"Mmmm-hmmm," James agreed indulgently, pulling on a blue, long-sleeved shirt.

"You know, something James?" Sirius' face was contorted in a giant, cranky squint. "You're _really_ not much of a morning person."

After Sirius tottered back from the communal bathroom, freshly showered and shaved, the two friends made their way to the dining room where Coach McNamee and the other team members were already assembled. Lucius was seated in an armchair, the morning paper spread before him on a table, a look of disapproving haughtiness settled comfortably on his face. He didn't bother looking up when they came in. 

Ant stood against the wall, an insolent _S_ in a black cashmere coat, consuming his usual substantive breakfast of cigarettes and coffee. Milan sat next to him, smiling, dreamy and smitten, at his reflection in the silver curve of the toaster. Mad Mac, in the corner, was constructing an impressive tower of a sandwich, incorporating food combinations that made even Sirius wince. It tottered precariously, a skyscraper in the gale, somehow managing to defy the laws of physics. 

"Morning!" Heath said cheerfully. "Ready to launch down the path to fame and victory?"

"Oh, do be quiet!" Ludmila snapped. Huffily, "It's criminal to be cheerful at such an ungodly hour." Her pale hair was unruly in its rumpled, disorderly curls. Her cheeks were flushed and her face still bore the imprint of creased sheets. Unlike her brother, who was dressed in an almost ridiculously immaculate manner, button-down shirt and pressed linen trousers, she looked like she had just rolled out of bed, wearing a pair of muddy sneakers, a long-sleeved shirt, red down vest and pair of faded blue jeans. She sat, bleary-eyed, in the chair next to her brother, both legs drawn to her chest, regarding her cup of tea with a look of indescribable contempt.

***

__

On seashore far a green oak towers,

And to it with a gold chain bound,

A learned cat whiles away the hours

By walking quickly round and round.

***

Despite her unimpressively wiry frame, Sirius reluctantly admitted, Ludmila was a surprisingly good Beater. She zipped around the field, bent over broom with a relaxed curve of spine, attacking the bludgers with the athletic, self-assured grace of a cat. Rather than taking the usual approach of deflecting the bludgers by hurling herself at them with brute, unbridled force, she charged at them with an astonishing economy of gesture: everything precise, controlled, purposeful. 

And it wasn't just Ludmila that pleasantly surprised Sirius; everyone (even _Milan_) seemed much more capable than Sirius remembered them from the regular inter-house Quidditch games. Ant, Lucius and Mad Mac were relentless in their offensive attacks; Heath never let fall his deft, vigilant guard; and James, of course, performed with his usual excellence.

The six hours of practice sped by quickly, Mad Mac finally calling it quits at noon, unable to ignore his defiantly rumbling belly any longer. Coach McNamee had long since abandoned them for a mid-morning nap, which was really no great loss since most of his yelled instructions were pretty worthless anyway ("Don't get hit by the bludgers!" he'd yell earnestly, at regular intervals, slumped over in his usual fat, indolent heap).

"So I think that was pretty good for the first time around, eh?" Heath raised a pleased eyebrow.

"Yeah, I think so," James shook his head in agreement, "Our movement is more coordinated than I thought it'd be. We're still a bit out-of-sync, though."

"That should correct itself soon, I think." Sirius cast an eye up towards Ludmila, who was still circling above everyone, whirling around with dizzying, acrobatic ease.

"Ludmila!" Ant yelled up at her impatiently. 

She glanced down briefly, scowled, then started another round of pirouettes. Sirius felt almost nervous at the tight recklessness of her turns.

"Ludmila!" Ant said again, more angrily. "Komm runter!" At this she gave him another icy look and turned into a tailspin.

"_Women_," Ant grunted disapprovingly. "If 'er ass vas not so…" he cast his hand about airily, searching for the right word, "Delectable?" He shook is head approvingly at his selection, "I vould not even bother."

***

"Will you look at that?" James cried with childish delight, looking out the window of their bedroom.

"What?" Sirius asked, lying on his back, folded arms beneath his head.

"That mutt of Ludmila's. It's running around with some dumb cat. It looks like their _playing_."

"That should get her good and pissed," Sirius sniggered sleepily.

"Maybe," James said, unzipping his bag.

"And it'd be a _shame_ to pass up the opportunity to get a Malfoy good and riled up," Sirius sat up with a jolt. James snorted and shook his head at Sirius.

"What?"

"You just want to see her again. To work your roguish charm."

"_Absolutely_," Sirius agreed, grinning wide.

Out the door and down the hallway, Sirius sauntered down three doors, rapped politely on the door. There was a noise of impatient feet making their way to the door, which opened just enough so that the door could be blocked by Lucius' slender body.

"Yes?" came his brusque voice.

"Hey, Lucius, old pal!" Sirius slapped a chummy hand on his back "Where's your scrumcious biscuit of a sister?" He craned his neck over Lucius' head.

"She's out walking the dog."

"Aww, that's not right! I just saw her dog running around without her," Sirius was still trying to poke his inquisitive head in the door.

"Well, she's not here, Black. And if you know what's good for you, you'll get your jollies elsewhere. She doesn't like you and I'm sure Ant wouldn't appreciate your attentions." He slammed the door (not without effort) in Sirius' face.

***

There was a party scheduled that evening in the main hall, the apparent purpose of which was to acquaint the players of different teams. 

Thirty minutes after it was scheduled to begin: 

Heath and Ant were bent over the sinks in the communal bathroom, necks stretched like giraffes against their razor's edge; Milan picked fastidiously at his little goatee, dousing himself with an overly generous splash of cologne; James changed into a fresh pair of khakis; Sirius ran a nonchalant hand over his stubble; Lucius glared at everyone, impeccable and morose in his beige linen suit. 

His sister was in the shower.

"Ludmila?" Ant knocked on the frosted shower door; the flesh-colored shadow of her body jerked in response, but she didn't answer. "Ludmila?" He drew an impatient hand through his disordered black hair, transferring his cigarette to his other hand, knocked again. "Hast!"

"I _am_," she replied irritably, stepping out in a pale blue towel, "Just give me a second, will you?"

She walked down to her room, emerging not a minute later in a very sheer, very insubstantial black dress (if it could very well be called that). 

"_That's_ what you're wearing?" Heath gulped, half elated, half scandalized at this choice of wardrobe.

"Yes."

"That's _indecent_."

"Isn't it?" she twirled around, arms outstretched, laughing. She stopped, soaking in the slack-jawed stares like a sponge. "Lock our door, will you Lucius?"

Everyone accounted for, the team walked over the field to the main hall together. The boom of the music, hard and rhythmic across the dark rustling grass, blended discordantly with the gentle whir of cricket-song. Heath and Mad Mac were engaged in a rather heated discussion about which was the best deli in Diagon Alley ("Are you nuts?" Mad Mac howled, hands shaking violently above his head. "Vaci's can't hold a _candle_ to McCrory's!"). Milan was regaling Lucius, who ignored him in his usual sullen silence, with some rather fantastic tales of his (purported) throngs of female admirers. Ant had a heavy, possessive arm around Ludmila's shoulder, which she periodically shrugged off. James and Sirius alone were silent, enjoying the great expanse of star-encrusted sky. It was perhaps the first time their team felt like more than just a haphazardly thrown together group of individuals; it now had a kind of comfortable familiarity to it.

They arrived at the front of the hall, the closed double doors rattling restlessly against their frame with each boom of the music. Lucius threw open a door.

The room was darkly lit, a mirror-encrusted disco ball twirled drunkenly on the ceiling. A surprisingly large crowd was in there, pulsing rhythmically, like a giant heart, to the measure of song and yelled conversation.

"'Allo!" a perky blond, on tiptoes, yelled in Sirius' ear. She was quite pretty in an overly-dimpled sort of way. "Es-tu français?"

"English," Sirius replied, unable to decide whether or not she had performed some sort of enlargement spell on her rather ample chest.

"Ahhhh!" she cried delightedly, "De English are so…" a coquettish smile, "Brooding." _Fairly attractive_, Sirius thought, _Not bad work if you can get it._

"What did you say your name was?" he yelled back at her, donning the infamous Sirius-smile.

"I didn't," a flirtatiously raised eyebrow.

"Right," a casual, friendly arm around her shoulder.

***

The blond, however, started grating on his nerves within five minutes of their hollered conversation. Her gestures were too theatrical, her remarks too vacuous, her girlish charm too affected for Sirius to find her terribly attractive. But, strangely enough, what bothered Sirius the most was that she kept advancing upon him, chest pointed menacingly upwards, warhead-like. It looked like she intended to pummel him with her breasts.

"I need some air," he said finally, trying to make his excuses.

"I'll come with you," she yelled back. He somehow managed to lose her on the way to the door.

Sirius caught sight of James, cornered, a distressed look on his face, attempting to fend off three overly friendly girls_. He can take care of himself_, Sirius grinned, kicking open the door. The cool night air rushed into his lungs like he been underwater.

The walk back to his room was a pleasant one, the night air heavy with the sounds of darkness. When he got to his door, he fumbled around a bit for his keys. Not in the pants pockets, or the jacket…or the shirt; they were nowhere to be found.

"Can you get in?" a quiet voice called from behind him. It was Ludmila.

"What?"

"I heard you come in just now. Can you get in your room?" She was clutching a crimson robe around her. For several moments Sirius didn't know what to answer. He was reluctant to admit he hadn't had the foresight to ask James for the keys, and Ludmila was being unusually agreeable.

"Where's Ant?" Sirius asked suspiciously. She laughed.

"Don't flatter yourself," a strangely warm smile. "I foisted him off on some unsuspecting girl." Sirius raised an eyebrow. "She was more…receptive to his present needs," she explained with a shrug. "He's a diversion, a hobby. Fancies himself more, I suppose."

__

Where is this going? Sirius wondered to himself.

"Listen, it's your choice," another one-shoulder shrug. "I'm perfectly content for you to sleep out in the hallway." Sirius looked from his door to her, and again. _What the hell?_ he thought, _Ant is generally pretty disagreeable anyway_.

***

so, not much of a cliffhanger. sorry 'bout that, i'm just a little tired of typing. the plot is still hiding timidly in my closet (please come out? pretty pretty _please_?) but i promise it'll be less bashful in the next installment. _if_ there is one, that is. should i keep going? you tell me. you da boss.


End file.
